You Do Know
by CelticUnicorn
Summary: Paul and Miss Lavendar (now Mrs. Irving) journey to Boston, helping each other along their new path. New chapter just added - please R & R!
1. Chapter 1

Can anyone rest properly when they are on the first sea voyage of their young lives? I can't imagine how Father could expect me to retire uncomplainingly to my room on the schooner to Boston, that night when we were halfway between the old life and the new. He had sent me to bed some time ago with a wave of his hand as he led Mother Lavendar into the room that they would share. She looked back at me sympathetically, but I could tell by the way she leaned into Father that she wasn't entirely sorry that he requested her company.  
  
We had left Yarmouth, Nova Scotia that afternoon, and we were expected to arrive in Boston sometime the next day. We could have taken the train, of course, but neither Mother Lavendar nor I had ever been on a boat before. So Father relented to our pleas.  
  
I will never forget the sounds of the pier at Yarmouth. The sailors' shouts echoed in the air and mixed with the jostling of trunks and the cries of the gulls. It was just as I had imagined a busy port to be. I made a mental impression of all my observations, so I could write them in a letter to my beautiful teacher, Miss Shirley, when we arrived in Boston. Oh, how I would miss her! But Mother Lavendar promised me that we will be back to visit.  
  
As we descended from the train that had taken us across most of Nova Scotia, Father called to a young man in uniform, instructing that our belongings be put on the boat. I must admit that I was slightly worried - how could we be sure that they would make it? I looked up into Mother Lavendar's face. She was looking around with eyes as wide as mine felt, looking every bit like a child as young as I. Her eye caught me looking at her and she smiled down at me, squeezing my hand.  
  
We followed Father through the crowds. There were people walking every which way. Sailors who smelled like salted fish moved the fastest of all, throwing ropes to each other and tossing trunks into the hold. Tossing! I reached my hand into my pocket, grateful that I hadn't packed the picture of my little mother into my trunk. As much as I love Mother Lavendar, I have promised myself that she will never replace my little mother who loved me so well.  
  
We stopped in front of a ramp that led up into the boat. I knew it was called the Gangplank, from reading stories about sea voyages. Father approached a man who was standing by the base of it, and Mother Lavendar and I stopped some feet behind him. I looked around. I had never been in a place that was so loud or so busy. I could tell that there were no Rock People here - if there were, they would all have fled. My rock people would certainly be frightened if they came here. Of course, my rock people are not real, but still I know how they would behave in every situation.  
  
I looked up at Mother Lavendar. She was looking at the boat and I knew that it looked as big and new to her as it did to me. A tear rolled down her cheek. I reached my arm around her waist and rested my head on her shoulder.  
  
"I can hardly wait for the grand ball to begin," I whispered. "Is it really right up that velvet-carpeted staircase?"  
  
Mother Lavendar smiled. "That's right. I am much honored to have you as my escort, my dear Lord Worthington."  
  
"It is my pleasure, Lady Essex."  
  
And, with that, we followed Father up the ramp. Mother Lavendar and I are kindred spirits, you see. And we know that pretending things helps to ease the heart when it is sad. We were both sad at leaving Canada, and looking up at that large ship I knew that Mother Lavendar missed Echo Lodge as much as I did then.  
  
We stepped off a ramp into a narrow carpeted hallway, with gas lamps lining the walls and doors in between each lamp. The doors were a dark green with brass handles. Using a key the man Father had talked to had given him, he unlocked one of the doors. We stepped in. Right inside the door was a small parlor, and two doors at the back wall led into a larger bedroom and a smaller one. My belongings were placed at the foot of the bed in the small room. I sighed with genuine relief to see it. Under the bed was a chamber pot, and in the corner was a basin. It was just like a hotel.  
  
The ship's whistle blew, and I ran into the bedroom that Mother Lavendar and Father were sharing. "May we go up for the departure?" I asked. I wanted to wave at the people on the pier and pretend that I was someone very important and they were all waving at me.  
  
"Of course, Paul," Father answered.  
  
"Quick, we'll miss it!" I cried. I grabbed Mother Lavendar's hand and we ran up the stairs, Father following behind, much more dignified than we. I saw a space by the rail that looked on the pier, and ran to it.  
  
"Goodbye!" I cried to the strangers below. "Goodbye, may God bless you all!"  
  
"Do you know anyone down there, Paul?" Father asked.  
  
"I'm pretending I do," I answered.  
  
"You are a curious child," Father murmured. Mother Lavendar winked at me.  
  
Just then the whistle blew again and the boat began to pull away from the shore.  
  
"Goodbye!" I called again. "Goodbye, all!" My eye scanned the crowd - men standing straight and tall like Father, women in fashionable suits and hats, children in pinafores and short pants running in and out of legs trying to catch a glimpse of the ship. For a moment my eye caught on a tall lady with red hair that peeked out from her hat. I almost called out to her, but I realized that my beautiful teacher was back on Prince Edward Island, and not here. I would not see her here.  
  
I looked to my left, to where Mother Lavendar had been standing, wanting to imagine something about this moment. But a stranger was standing where she had been, and turning around, I saw neither her nor Father. I broke away from the rail and looked around at the crowds. Seeing neither of them, I ran back downstairs, running as fast as I could though I wasn't entirely sure where our rooms were. Somehow I found them, though, and burst into the door fearing that I wouldn't find them there and then I would surely panic. But there was Mother Lavendar, sitting in a chair. Father was standing next to her, holding her hand. She was very pale. I went to her.  
  
"Mother Lavendar, are you ill?"  
  
"No," she replied, taking my hand. "No, Paul, darling, I'm not ill."  
  
"Are you frightened?"  
  
"A bit.but not of the ship."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"I'm very homesick, my darling." Her voice caught as she spoke the words.  
  
"But the state rooms are so lovely."  
  
She shook her head. "I don't want state rooms. And not even your imagination can bring Echo Lodge to me, dear one." A tear rolled down her cheek. Another followed it. I was too big to climb into her lap, but I did so just the same.  
  
"Come, Mother Lavendar," I whispered into her shoulder. "Let's take a tour of the ship. It will take your mind off home."  
  
"No," she whispered. "You go, dear. Tell me all about it."  
  
"I don't want to go without you," I said, standing up. "Please come. We'll make up stories about all the people on board. Oh, please come, Mother Lavendar." I reached out my hand to her.  
  
"Go, my dear," Father murmured. "You'll drive yourself crazy sitting here thinking about home."  
  
Mother Lavendar looked at Father, then at me. Finally she reached out and took my hand.  
  
Together we went up on deck. The land was getting smaller and smaller, and most people had stopped waving. There was only one girl, who looked not much older than I. She was wearing a brown suit and had chestnut hair that was swept up under a hat that she held on with one pale hand. She was leaning out over the rail, her gaze fixed on the shore.  
  
I stepped up on my toes so I could whisper in Mother Lavendar's ear. "Her parents have died of disease. She is being sent away to an aunt in the States."  
  
Mother Lavendar pointed to a young couple who were sitting on a bench hand in hand. The bench was facing the shore, but their gaze was fixed on each other. "They have just been married, and they are going to New York City so that he can seek his fortune in railroads."  
  
Mother Lavendar and I walked all around the ship, making up such situations for everyone we saw. We even made up stories for the sailors - jilted lover who took to sea to escape his heart's pain, son of a naval officer who died in battle. By the time we had rounded the entire deck, the sun was setting. As we stood deciding whether to go around again, the dinner bell rang and we returned down below and headed towards the dining- room.  
  
We took our dinner with Father, who praised my lack of seasickness and my hearty appetite under such conditions. Then he and Mother Lavendar retired to their room, and I was sent to mine. I thought I might begin a letter to my beautiful teacher, but the sea air called to me. I wanted to see the sky above the ship, and look up at the stars above the ocean. I thought about knocking on their door, but thought they might want some time to themselves.  
  
I felt some guilt at disobeying Father, but as I have said, no one can rightly ask another to calmly retire when on such an adventure. So I climbed the stairs to the deck, and ran around to the prow. Gazing upward, I saw so many stars glittering - the crown jewels could not be so beautiful. Perhaps I was wrong - perhaps fairyland is not in the forest but in the sky. Certainly those glittering lights were fairy-candles! I could not keep such beauty to myself. I ran down the stairs and knocked on Mother Lavendar and Father's door. Father opened the door and peered out at me.  
  
"What's wrong, Paul?"  
  
"Nothing's wrong, Father. I only wanted.will you and Mother Lavendar come out to see the stars?"  
  
Father sighed. "If we do, will you leave us for the evening?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"All right. Just for a moment, though." He stepped out into the hall. He was still in his day-clothes, though his collar was undone. Mother Lavendar was also still dressed, though without jacket. This she picked up from the chair and pulled on as she followed him out the door.  
  
"It's beautiful, Mother Lavendar!" I cried. "There are faeries in the sky."  
  
She smiled. "Perhaps we can be witness to their ministries to the Moon Queen."  
  
Father shook his head. "Heathens, the both of you." I laughed and took Mother Lavendar's hand, leading her up the stairs. As we reached the top, she looked up at the sky and immediately stopped in her tracks with an "Oh!"  
  
"Isn't it lovely?" I said.  
  
She put her arm around me and squeezed my shoulders. "Thank you for calling us up here, Paul dear."  
  
We stood and stared up for a moment. I pointed to the brightest star. "There she is," I said. "The Fairy Queen."  
  
"Yes, and there are her attendants." Mother Lavendar pointed to the stars around it.  
  
"Oh, wouldn't Miss Shirley love this scene? She would have such a story about it1"  
  
Mother Lavendar smiled fondly. "I'm sure she would want us to 'soak the starshine into our souls.'" She imitated my beautiful teacher's pattern of speech so well that I couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, my dear little Anne," Mother Lavendar sighed.  
  
And all of a sudden I remembered her face so clearly - more clearly than one usually can see a face in his mind's eye. I remembered her walking with me that day when I went to my little mother's grave. I remembered her standing in front of the classroom, her eyes glowing as she spoke of a favorite piece of poetry. I remembered the first time she took me to Echo Lodge, and the time she took tea with Mary Joe and me. And oh, how I missed her! Before I realized it I was weeping, just standing there staring out into the void of the sea and mourning. Father laid an awkward hand on my shoulder.  
  
"It's all right, son," he said gruffly. "We will make a visit soon enough."  
  
Oh, it could never be soon enough! I wept still harder, with all the desperation of wanting something that's very far away. I felt a gentle arm around my shoulders. Looking up, I saw that it was Mother Lavendar. Her eyes seemed to reach out to me - like my beautiful teacher, Mother Lavendar has eyes that reflect your heart back to you, and hers mourned in that moment. I looked at her and she reached her arms out. I slid into them and she held me tight.  
  
"I think." she murmured after a moment. "I think there's a reason why birds fly in a flock."  
  
So they are not alone on the journey. I knew that was what she meant - it doesn't take many words for kindred spirits like we to understand each other. It was time for us to make a long journey away from what we held very dear - but we needn't make the journey alone. And looking up into Mother Lavendar's eyes, I knew that making a journey with a kindred spirit was a thousand times better than making it alone. And someday soon, we would make the journey back to our home together. Just like a flock of birds flying with the seasons. And Father would join our flock, kin to us by blood as we are kin by soul.  
  
I smiled at Mother Lavendar and hugged her again, tight. Then I stepped back and took her hand. "How lovely the stars look in the garden tonight," I said. "Will you walk with me through the rose bushes, Lady Essex?"  
  
"It would be my pleasure, Lord Worthington." 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two  
  
I slept soundly that night. We had remained on deck for a long time - Father could not drag Mother Lavendar and me away from the tapestry of fairy stars that glittered in the night sky. But it grew late, and dreamland called. I had asked if I could please sleep on deck, under the stars, but Father said it wouldn't be proper. So Mother Lavendar laid a gentle arm around my shoulders and led me back to my little room below deck.  
  
"Mother Lavendar," I'd called as she turned to leave my cabin, "this is such a special night.won't you sing me to sleep, like my little mother used to?"  
  
Mother Lavendar smiled, and her eyes warmed as though the sun had risen behind them. "I used to sing to my little dream boy," she said softly.  
  
"Oh, I knew you did," I sighed. "I just knew you did. Sing me the song you sang to him?"  
  
Mother Lavendar glided over to me and sat on the edge of my bed, next to my pillows. I slid over nearer to her and leaned against her. She put her arm about me and I rested my head on her shoulder, and as she began to sing I could feel the humming it made in her. I felt the warm hum begin to grow into my cheek and my face, and a little bit in my back where her gentle hand rested. I closed my eyes.  
  
She sang in such a lovely, soft voice, like pale purple silk. "I my loving vigil keeping, all through the night." Oh, I do love you, Mother Lavendar.  
  
  
  
In the morning, Father woke me with a knock at my door, calling me for breakfast. I rose and donned my best brown suit, as I wanted to look very sophisticated when we docked in Boston. Examining myself in the glass that hung on the wall of my cabin, I straightened my back and held my head up confidently. Yes, I looked enough like I belonged in a big city.  
  
Breakfast was a rich, wonderful meal of sausage, bread and butter, eggs, and fruit enough for everyone. I ate as though it were my last meal on earth - I had never tasted food so marvelous! Each bite I savored, taking great care to save one bite of each delicacy for the very end. It was so good, I didn't want the meal to end. The last bite of each dish I savored most of all, trying to fix the taste in my memory so I could imagine it back someday in the future.  
  
After the meal was finished, Mother Lavendar and I took to the deck where we passed the entire morning, watching the travelers and keeping a weather eye out for land. Father spent the morning in the cabin, attending to business.  
  
It was a beautiful day. The sun sparkled off the ripples in the water and made the surface positively glisten. The sea stretched out in all directions and above us, two perfect white clouds hung like fresh spun wool in the perfect blue sky.  
  
"Look, Mother Lavendar," I whispered, pointing up at the clouds. "Our guardian angels have followed us here on their golden chariots."  
  
"Oh, yes, there they are!" she said. "And look - your father's angel and mine are sharing a chariot."  
  
"I see - it's pulled by two golden horses. Mine has one golden pony, but he's just strong enough. And look, he has velvet reins."  
  
"Yes, and what a lovely shade of deep red they are. Can you see the silver ropes that ours have?"  
  
"They're beautiful!" Then.I saw it. "Mother Lavendar! Look!"  
  
I pointed ahead of me. Her gaze followed, and she saw what had caught my eye - the skyline of Boston, rising before us. Brick buildings packed so close together, I wondered how people walk around - it was like a forest made of red brick. Closest to the waterfront, smoke billowed out of factory chimneys. Even so far away, it already looked like a place where people hurried about and did important, urgent things. I wondered who was walking around among those buildings, and what they were thinking about, and what it would be like to be among them. Soon we would find out!  
  
I ran down to the cabin and fetched Father, certain that he would want to see Boston as we approached it. He followed me up and we joined Mother Lavendar at the bow of the ship.  
  
"There it is, son," he said. "Boston. What do you think?"  
  
"It looks so busy," I said. We were just close enough that we could see the boats in the harbor - all kinds, chugging and gliding, leaving and arriving. And we were gliding in to join them. For one instant I felt as though we were headed into a storm - the strange awkward dance of the ships I the harbor did resemble the stirring of a tempest. But as the ship's men moved around us, calling to each other and making sure everything happened according to plan, I was reassured. They had their place and their purpose in this harbor-dance, making sure that our ship went on its course. Perhaps that was how it would be in the city - everyone making their way, a part in this huge machine.  
  
I had never been in a city before, and I wondered as we entered the harbor what it would be like. Would I still be able to hear the call of my rock people? Would they find a place to live here? They are not fond of crowds. Will Mother Lavendar and I still be able to imagine things, or will such a new, busy reality crowd out our imaginings? Or will I find myself excited by the bustling and feel more sophisticated surrounded by elegance? Will I change much? What will I find here?  
  
I wonder if every traveler has so many questions as he arrives in a new land. I looked up at Mother Lavendar and Father and they were holding hands, both gazing into the forest of brick that lay before us. They were wondering too, I knew it - wondering what life we would find. The docks grew still closer, and people came into view. It wouldn't be long before the boat would dock. What lay beyond the busy port for us? 


	3. Chapter 3

*Disclaimer: characters are, as always, property of L.M. Montgomery. The poetry that Paul and "Mother Lavendar" recite is from "Paul Revere's Ride," by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.  
  
Chapter Three  
  
The carriage picked us up right at the docks and carried us through the crowds at the port. The driver was Father's regular Boston driver, and he drove through the busy streets with ease. There was so much to see on the way! I sat on the very edge of the bench so I could look out the window.  
  
I have never seen buildings so close together in all my life! Some roads were lined with shops, some with houses. I wondered if the people who lived in them could look out their dining-room windows and see what their neighbors were having for supper. I wondered if such proximity would be enjoyable or irritating. Surely it wouldn't be entirely agreeable for someone to be able to look into your bedroom window if the lights were on at night.  
  
Lost in thought about the lives of the Bostonians, I almost failed to notice Mother Lavendar gently shaking my arm. But I was taken back to reality by her voice -  
  
"Paul, look!" I looked over at her, and she was pointing out the other window. I climbed over her and she slid sideways to let me in beside her, next to the window that she was pointing to.  
  
It was a red brick church with a white steeple. "It's beautiful," I said.  
  
"It's the Old North Church," Mother Lavendar smiled. "Do you know the poem about Paul Revere's ride?"  
  
"Yes!" I cried, jumping up to recite. I spoke in a clear, strong voice, just like my beautiful teacher showed me how.  
  
"Listen, my children, and you shall hear  
  
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere.  
  
On the eighteenth of April in seventy-five  
  
Hardly a man is now alive  
  
Who remembers that famous day and year."  
  
Mother Lavendar smiled. "Do you remember the part when he watches for the lanterns? 'But mostly he watched with eager search.'"  
  
I grinned, and recited the verse she spoke of, complete with dramatic gestures and hushed tones at the important parts.  
  
"But mostly he watched with eager search  
  
The belfry tower of the Old North Church,  
  
As it rose above the graves on the hill,  
  
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.  
  
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height  
  
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!"  
  
"That's the Old North Church," Mother Lavendar said. "The church with the white steeple."  
  
"Really?" I leaned towards the window to look at it again, but we had already passed.  
  
Father smiled. "Don't worry, Paul, I'll take you back. I'll take you to all the places where the Revolution happened."  
  
I sat back in my seat, next to Mother Lavendar, imagining Paul Revere in his three-corner hat riding like the wind on his horse on these very streets. I felt as though I had leapt into the poem. I was all at once excited to be here and terribly homesick for my beautiful teacher.  
  
"Wouldn't Anne Shirley love to have seen that?" Mother Lavendar sighed. I looked at her and managed a smile. No matter how many times our thoughts coincide, it always makes me feel wonderful when she says what I have been thinking. I leaned over and rest my head on her shoulder, realizing how tired I am from the trip.  
  
Mother Lavendar smiled and patted my hand. Father said, "We're nearly there, son."  
  
I didn't care if we ever got there - I loved the feeling of the wheels turning under me and the carriage rumbling along and the succession of buildings I could see out the window. Most were brick, several stories high but thin.  
  
We pulled up in front of a house that, to my surprise, was not touching other houses on both sides. It was set in a yard that was small but enough so that we wouldn't feel crowded. The house was made of large white bricks, three stories tall and square. Lining the steps that lead up to the black-painted double doors stood Father's servants. He had told me he had a cook, a butler and two maids. I wondered which of the men was the cook and which was the butler - all were standing stock-still like soldiers and unsmiling.  
  
"Do they always look so solemn?" I asked Father as we climbed out of the carriage.  
  
Either he didn't hear me, or he pretended not to notice. He acknowledged each one with a polite nod as we followed him up the stairs and into the house.  
  
The entryway was not massive, but big enough. Next to the doorway was a wooden table with flowers in a pot and a mirror that reflected the image of the three of us standing in our traveling clothes. A hallway extended back through the house, and on either side were wooden doors. Father promised he would take us on a tour later - "After we've all been settled."  
  
He led us up the carpeted stairway to the upstairs. The upstairs seemed to be arranged in a horseshoe around the entryway, just like the bottom floor. I guessed that it was so guests would feel like they were in a big space, with the ceiling so far above them when they came in.  
  
Father led me first into my bedroom. It had been prepared for me already, with a big four-poster bed complete with canopy and damask curtains. I had a fireplace and a washstand and a desk by the window. I went over to the window to see what my view was. Oh, good! I had a wonderful view of the back gardens - small, but I could tell that we had nice flowers.  
  
"Supper will be in a half hour, son," Father said as he led Mother Lavendar out the door. "You have plenty of time to wash up."  
  
As they left, I looked around for a moment in excitement. Then like a brick had been dropped into my stomach, the strangeness of my surroundings hit me. I knew I would be able to appreciate the view in time, but I felt very odd at that particular moment. The room felt very big, and the view very unfamiliar, and the dark wood of the bed very imposing. I suppose a new home never feels like home right away, but this being my first new home I had never felt this strange displaced sensation.  
  
I ran out of the room and turned left into the hallway. I opened one door, then another, then another, before I found Mother Lavendar and Father conversing with a servant in their own new bedroom. I stood in the door watching them - somehow the strange empty feeling went away when I wasn't alone.  
  
Mother Lavendar saw me standing there and started. "Paul!" she cried. "Is something wrong?"  
  
"No," I said. And as though she could read my mind - and sometimes I think she can - she came over to me and laid a gentle hand on my shoulder.  
  
"Would you like me to come help you settle in?" she asked. I only nodded.  
  
She followed me back to my room, where my trunk had been delivered. We went through my things, putting them away.  
  
"I wonder what our neighbors are like," I said.  
  
"I bet some of them are diplomats," she suggested, a twinkle in her eye.  
  
"From Europe?" I suggested.  
  
She smiled. "France, I think."  
  
And we went on unpacking and making up stories about our neighbors, and by the time we had unpacked we had invented a Polish count, an English duchess with an Irish orphan maid, a manufacturing giant, and an eccentric old dowager with seventeen gray cats.  
  
We had supper in the dining room, which had mirrors on both sides to make it look larger. A large mahogany table took up most of the room, and below the window was the sideboard from which the maids served us our supper of roast chicken and potatoes prepared in a way I'd never seen.  
  
By the end of the meal, I was exhausted. Travel is wearying, and all the new sights and experiences had worn me out. As soon as I was done eating, I excused myself upstairs, changed into my pajamas, and climbed into bed. I didn't know how late it was, but as it was dark, it must have been after nine o'clock.  
  
The bed was vast and softer than any bed I'd ever slept in - I sunk deep into the feather tick as soon as I laid down.  
  
Is there anything more strange than a strange bed? Knowing deep inside me that this wasn't the room I had gone to sleep in, that this wasn't the room in which my little mother had read to me and sung me songs, the empty, lost feeling returned. And finally being relaxed in body, my eyes released tears that felt like they had been waiting to spill for hours. I wept into my pillow, not knowing quite why except that it must have something to do with the empty feeling that was slowly creeping from my heart into my middle.  
  
I was vaguely aware of it when the edge of my mattress dipped, and then I felt Mother Lavendar's hand smoothing my hair away from my forehead.  
  
"What is it, pet?" she asked. "Are you homesick?"  
  
Although "homesick" wasn't quite the word for what I felt - it was more like being lost in a dark wood - her gentle voice made the tears flow stronger. Mother Lavendar lifted me from the mattress and held me to her.  
  
"Hush," she whispered. "Hush now."  
  
She held me silently for a while, and eventually I quieted.  
  
"I do like Boston," I murmured into her white cotton nightdress.  
  
"I know," she said. "First nights make you feel so alone. Like you're hanging in the air, and you can't see the ground?" I nodded. "I know. I always cry when I sleep in a new place. I promise you, it will be exciting again tomorrow. Boston won't hold it against you."  
  
I giggled wearily and nestled closer to her. I intended to thank her for coming in to me, but my eyes drooped shut and my voice, it seemed, had already gone to sleep. Mother Lavendar began to sing.  
  
"My life goes on, in endless song, above earth's lamentations. . ."  
  
A song I knew. Mother Lavendar here. Father down the hall. The empty feeling began to go away, and my weary body slipped into a deep sleep. I was even eager for the morning. 


End file.
